Layer Cake
by RobinRocks
Summary: The story of Batman, Robin, Batgirl, the Teen Titans and the threads that bind them all together. A prose analysis of the boy who became Robin, and the man who became Nightwing. RobStar. Chaptered; COMPLETE.
1. Batman

Batman

There is a storm coming.

A man stands on a rooftop and tastes the raw electricity on the tip of his tongue. It makes his hair lift and crackle; gives him a subtle static shock every time he touches his belt or his weapons.

He looks up at the sky – dry, but dark. It is night, but this an opaque darkness – one created but tumultuous storm clouds, that roll and rumble overhead like great chariots, pulled by phantom horses borne of shadow, and shade, and…

…_sin_.

The air is thick and heavy; hot and cold, bitter and sweet all at once. A storm is coming, you see.

The city below festers – just as it has always done. Past; present; future. Not that it even _matters_. Sometimes there is rain alone; but it is not a cleansing shower of crashing crystal tears, as though wept by the piteous gods high above. No, because this city has changed, ruptured, wept, bled and crusted over.

It _can't_ heal itself – and when it rains, the sky becomes a perpetual oblivion of grey, and an opaque, choking cloud of dust arises and settles over the city.

And _what_ a city. A jungle of concrete and twisted metal girders; of towering billboards, sky-high pylons thick with webs of sparking wires, black reflective windows. This city looks as though it was once a part of the very depths of Hell itself, which began to rise, buckle, grow – and burst through the skin of the Earth, kept on pushing, up and up and up, until it settled itself here and decided to stay.

Which is… so very strange, because this isn't Gotham City. And this isn't Metropolis, or Steel City, or, Heaven forbid, _Blüdhaven_. They all look like this too, but… that doesn't surprise him.

But _this_ – this was Jump City once, and once upon a time, Jump was no Gotham. It was bright and crisp, with the glimmering allure of a handful of new silver dollars.

But that was many 'once upon a times' ago; a time when there were five of them.

But then _she_ disappeared (_ohStarfirehowdareyouleavehowcouldyouneverthinkhowmuchIwouldneedyou…?_) and it all fell to pieces.

This man is thirty-six years old, with a blue bird emblazoned across his muscular chest; his hair is waist-length, ebony, with the gloss of ravens' feathers; and entangled with secrets and whispers and tears and sorrow and rage.

And loss.

His name is Nightwing – and when he looks across the black bay at the ruins of a tower, he knows that he _must_ be Nightwing, for what else is there left for him to be?

Not Dick Grayson; and not _Robin_, certainly. Those are carefully sandwiched layers, never to be disturbed. Because he is a part of a web – not a single person. He is only a single pillar of a _legacy_.

Once a boy; now a man; but always, _always _a page in the Bible of Batman.

He considers, and remembers, the story of another boy.

The _first_ boy.

And another storm.

Welcome to the Layer Cake.

* * *

"_There, a mugging became a double murder. There, a mother took one last look into the eyes of her only son, and saw him become a demon." _– Alfred, _All-Star Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder #5_ **(Frank Miller)**

Amazing, really, how the crashing of thunder could suddenly sound like a symphony of pearls hitting concrete; or how the flashing of lightning could suddenly look like the flare from the barrel of a gun.

The wildness of the storm rattled throughout the boy as he sat on the wide windowsill, his eyes dry and burning. Completely prone, unmoving – with his dark eyes fixed on the storm beyond the window. There was a hunger in them, as though he wished he could _have_ the power of that storm, _be_ the fear of it.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had had a mother and a father. A beautiful mother, with pearls threaded at her throat; and a handsome father, with an embrace like the strongest wall ever crafted, designed to protect his wife and his son.

A wall that had been torn down by nothing more than a two-bit punk with a gun and a greed for a string of pearls.

Now he had no-one.

No, that wasn't exactly true…

Alfred Pennyworth stood in the hall with Dr Leslie Tompkins; the door to the drawing room was open, and they could both clearly see the child sitting there on the sill, still as a porcelain doll, watching the storm.

"You have to make him eat something, Alfred," Tompkins said quietly. "Drink something. Rest. I know he hasn't slept since…"

"I will try again," Alfred replied wearily, "but he has refused anything I have offered him all day."

"What are you going to do… about the funeral?"

"Mr Wayne's more professional associates will take care of that, I am sure. I was only their manservant. It is not my place."

"Well, then… if nothing else, it _is_ your place to take care of Bruce now that his parents are gone."

"Naturally."

Dr Tompkins paused a while longer, lingering at the door.

"Very well. I'll come back tomorrow. I think he will need counselling, you know."

"That is a wise idea." Alfred opened the door for her. "But for now, as you suggested… nourishment and rest."

"Yes. Goodnight, Mr Pennyworth."

Alfred bid her goodnight and closed the door; then quietly crossed the hall and went into the drawing room. Bruce saw him approach in the reflection in the window, and spoke as the butler came to a stop behind him;

"I hate him, Alfred."

Alfred did not speak; perhaps alarmed by the venom in the young boy's voice.

Still watching Alfred's reflection rather than turning to the man himself, Bruce went on;

"I hate him. He killed my parents. I hate him and I want him dead." He paused, and took a breath; finally turning his face towards the butler. "Is that… _bad_?"

What could he say to the child; to this dark-eyed angel, who, at only seven years of age, could know nothing of morals?

Or maybe he _did_ understand. Maybe he understood all too well.

"It is… _natural_." Alfred sat down on the windowsill next to him. "Of course you hate him."

The boy clenched his small fists in his lap. There was a feral wildness in his eyes as he took another deep, shaking breath. No tears – only dry, angry eyes that burned and ached.

"But… is it _bad_?" He looked up. "Alfred?"

Alfred drew him into a hug then, as though trying to recreate for him the lost wall; and the boy put his arms around the elderly butler's neck, clinging tightly.

"Yes, Bruce," the Englishman whispered. "It is."

* * *

But when, all those years later, the boy who grew up to become Bruce Wayne pulled on the cowl for the first time, and saw his faithful friend and manservant suppress a little shudder as he turned fully to him, he smiled. 

It was a cold, glittering smile; humourless and sadistic.

This beast, this creature, this… _Bat-man_…

_This_ was the fear of the storm; and the power of it too.

Bad was this year's good; and black was this year's blue.

**

* * *

Inspired by a whole bunch of stuff – _Teen Titans_, Frank Miller, _Nightwing_, various _Batman_ lore conventions… **

This fic is about Dick Grayson, BTW, not Batman – but he comes first in the layer cake, so he was dealt with first. _Layer Cake_ comes from the title of a British crime film starring Daniel Craig pre-_James Bond_, but this has nothing to do with it.

Stay tuned for more soon… ish…


	2. Robin

Robin

"_And now my demon – my black-eyed, brilliant, willful angel – has grown to manhood.__ And in his hubris, he has chosen a protégé. An innocent young boy. I pray this child will survive this. I pray my master has not gone mad." _– Alfred, _All-Star Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder #5_ **(Frank Miller)**

"Do you think he hates him?"

Alfred Pennyworth looked up wearily from where he was dusting a silver ornament.

"Does whom hate whom, sir?"

"The boy. The little kid."

"The one sitting upstairs all by himself?" Alfred's tone was rather icy as he looked as his employer's broad, black-sheathed back. "I could not assume that, Master Bruce. I don't know if he feels hatred. But I should think…" He paused, thinking to choose carefully how he said the next part – but then he decided not to mince words; "…that he is _lonely_, more so."

"That's not what I asked, Alfred." Bruce Wayne, with his cowl down, looked over his shoulder at the butler. "I asked do you think he hates… Zucco?"

"And I replied that I don't know," Alfred replied snippily, returning to his dusting. "Why don't you ask him yourself? That will solve both our problems."

"And what is _your_ problem, Alfred?"

"The fact, sir, that you've left that little boy up there all by himself, and after what he's been through…"

"You know I'm not good with children."

"Then why bring him _home_ with you, for heaven's sake?" Alfred asked coldly.

"Because…" Even the almighty Batman had no answer for this, and fell silent.

"Because you saw _yourself_ in him," Alfred finished for him. "He's going through exactly what you did, but… Dear heavens, Master Bruce, do you think that automatically makes him your _property_? Did you take him simply because you felt that no-one _else_ could have him, because no-one else but you can understand…?"

"Oh, god, Alfred… _no_." Bruce massaged his temples. "He says he saw Zucco threaten Haley; they might come after him, finish off the whole family. Don't you agree he's safer here, with _me_?"

"Yes, sir, but I feel that that is not your only motive."

Bruce shrugged his powerful shoulders.

"And what are you going to _do_ with him?" Alfred asked. "He's not a _thing_, Master Bruce – you can't just keep him here until you get tired of him, then shunt him off back to the Welfare Office—"

"Alright, so I didn't think it through!" Bruce snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "I don't know, Alfred. I don't know what I'm going to do with him. There's room enough for him here, but I… I don't know the first thing about children. I couldn't raise him, he'd turn out like…"

"…You?" Alfred rolled his eyes. "Well, _whatever_ you plan on doing with him, I suggest that you go up right now and make an effort to talk to him. Perhaps, sir… you _are_ the only one capable of understanding. Good with children or not, that must count for _something_…"

Another slice of chill silence.

"Yes." Bruce got up, sinew and smooth, hard muscle flowing and ebbing beneath the material of his uniform; his black cloak swathing him like the wings of a black, black angel. "Yes, I suppose it must…"

—

Perhaps it was fool of him to come into the main house in full uniform, and it wasn't something he did extensively or habitually; but it was easier to make his wild stormy promises while dressed like this.

He stood in the doorway of the drawing room, as Alfred had done; and watched the boy sitting on the windowsill, as _he_ had done. No storm tonight; but the sky was heavy and dark and grim.

That wasn't the only difference – in the silence of the huge room, Bruce could hear the quiet sniffles. Not all-out, heart-wrenching sobs and wails of despair; just stifled sobs, and the glint of tears on his cheeks.

Bruce hadn't cried; his eyes had burned, and his throat had ached, but he hadn't _cried_.

He remembered that feeling himself; sitting there on that sill in the dark, with his back to a large empty room, yearning for the loving arms of his father or mother or _both _to slip around his shoulders and hug him tightly, whisper in his ear it would all be okay.

Something which never came. Yes, there was Alfred – and he owed Alfred _so_ much. But Alfred wasn't his _parents_.

Bruce moved up behind him, as Alfred had done to him; in the window, the boy started at the sudden appearance of his looming, demonic reflection, then bent his head again.

Bruce couldn't sit next to him – not because he was indifferent, but because he was Batman. And okay, the kid knew by now that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same person _physically_, but that didn't really count for anything anymore.

"I know how hard it is," he said eventually. "I know how much it hurts."

The kid nodded his head, his shoulders shaking.

"Well…" Bruce gingerly put a hand on the boy's small shoulder. "…You aren't alone."

"Yes, sir." The boy's voice was quiet and wavering. "Have… h-have you…?"

"Found Zucco?" Bruce finished. "Not yet. He's covered his tracks…"

The boy gave a deep, pained sigh. And then, finally;

"Is it… _wrong_ to… _hate_ him?"

With all the wisdom of a fool, Bruce did not think long and hard about his answer:

"_No_. It isn't wrong to hate evil-doers. That's why… _I'm_ here, anyway."

"I… I just want to… see him locked up, and…"

"Yes." Bruce paused, weighing up a daring thought. "You… perhaps, kid, I can… _help_ you…"

The boy finally turned to him, with eyes as blue and clear as the summer sky.

"How…?"

"Well, I…" Bruce rubbed at his aching forehead. "What's your name…?"

"Dick, sir. Dick Grayson."

"Yes, of course it is. I'm sorry, it just slipped… no matter…"

"_How_ can you _help_ me?" Dick pleaded, grasping Bruce's long silken cape in shaking fingers.

"First, tell me only this." Bruce extended a hand outwards; and he drew himself up to his full height, and the shadows flared and danced across the whole of his black angelic form. "…Are you afraid?"

_Of me?_ was the silent part.

Dick Grayson looked at the hand for a moment or two; and then, finally, placed his own small, quivering one into it.

To seal the deal.

"No, sir," he whispered. "I'm not."

The Batman smiled then, and said;

"Well, that's a start."

* * *

"_Swear that you will fight against crime and corruption, and never swerve from the path of justice!"_

"_I swear it!" – _Batman and Dick;_ The Untold Legend of the Batman _Vol. 1, Issue 2(1980) **(Len Wein)**

Bruce's eyes are dark – Dick's are not, and the candle flame dances in them as he watches Batman remove the lighter and his hand.

"You… are _sure_ about this, aren't you, Dick?" Batman asks softly, watching the boy nibble nervously at his bottom lip.

"Oh. Yes." His blue eyes slide from the flame to Batman and then back again. "_Yes_."

"Because…" Batman gently places a hand on his small shoulder. "…I've trained you and taught you, but… you mustn't feel _obliged_ because of it. Once you choose this path, there's no turning back."

"I know." Dick's eyes are clear and full of understanding. "But I want this. I want to do it."

"Well…" Batman removes his hand and steps back from him with a swish and sway of material. "That's good. I'm glad."

Dick blinks at him.

"I… I'm _ready_."

Batman nods silently; and the boy raises his hand in front of the candle and speaks the passage from the Bible of Batman. And as he speaks, rattling it off from a sharp memory that Bruce Wayne admires, the Batman smiles to himself, and agrees.

_Yes, I__ think you are ready… Robin._

* * *

"_You know, Robins… the mask makes me feel cool too."_ – Robin; _The Quest_

Frankly, it's suicide.

He takes a running leap and he – okay, get this – actually _leaps headlong_ off the roof of the _Gotham Gazette_ offices.

So what do _you_ do?

Follow him; like you're attached to him with a piece of elastic. He jumps – you jump. He fires his grapple; so do you. Lucky boy, that he sets a good example. Otherwise you'd _both_ be Bat-meat down there on the sidewalk.

It's your first night, and, well… we wouldn't want _that_ now, would we?

The night air is ice-touched on your face as it whips past you; and the chill opal moon rides in the inky sky; there _are_ stars, but they're hard to see, because Gotham is, quite honestly, filthy. There are other, much cleaner cities, where you can see the stars at night.

Maybe you'll see them one day. Both the other cities, and the stars.

It's an exhilaration that fills you as the concrete of the pavement rushes towards you at a frightening speed – but how can anyone explain the dangers to you, when you were trained as an _acrobat_?

He pulls on his jump line – specially manufactured, plenty of give – and swerves up and away from the street, his cloak whipping behind him with an ethereal liquid grace. You copy him, mirror-image, tug at the exact right angle at the exact right time with the exact right muscle in your arm; and then you're soaring up with him.

Heh – Superman, you ain't all that…

Batman swings into a landing on the roof of Wayne Enterprises – it's one of the tallest buildings in the city and he can get good view of what's going on from up here. You land lightly beside him, but your gaze isn't on the macabre sprawling metropolis stretched below. The big letters that spell out "WAYNE" are neon-bright and vaguely mirror-like, and are perfect for you to check out your reflection in.

He gave it to you tonight; and it's perfect. It fits in every single way, and it makes you feel _so cool_. Okay, so the pants are kind of short, and the pixie boots aren't going to do much damage, and it's so _bright_; but what _other_ kid your age gets to dress like this and hang out with the _Batman_?

The mask makes you feel kind of cool, too.

—

Eventually, Batman tracks down some action; two punks in navy balaclavas, pulling an alarm-squealing heist on the First Gotham City Bank. They have guns; but Batman sends a batarang whirling in their direction, knocking one of the guns out of its owner's possession. There's a muffled expletive – and then the hoods begin to panic, because they know…

"_He's_ here!"

"_Shit_… Bill… okay, Bill… j-just grab what you can and run for it!"

"Take the one I just disarmed," Batman mutters to you, as you descend like birds of prey from your high shadowed realm. "The other is mine."

You nod; and separate from him for the first time. He's only a few meters away, pummeling the snot out of the armed guy with precise punch after punch, but you _are_ separated from him.

The other guy screeches to a halt as you land in front of him. And his eyes widen like saucers, and he _stares_ at you.

"What the _hell_?!" He demands eventually, brandishing his hands at you incredulously. "Who are _you_ supposed to be?!"

Which, of course, leaves him _wide open_; your boot sinks into his solar plexus, your elbow meets his jaw, and as he stumbles backwards and curses, you spring into a light, fluid cartwheel, kick him squarely in the chest and send him to the ground.

He groans; but he's not a particularly stellar or durable crook, and he doesn't get up again. He does glare up at you, though – at this little boy in traffic light clothes, demanding an _answer _from you.

"Robin," you say. "I'm Robin, the Boy Wonder."

And then you smile at him, with a certain pride that maybe, from this moment on, will never leave you; and add, as an afterthought;

"Remember it."

* * *

Thankyou to my 7 reviewers: **YamiTai, Jumpstarter, AlsoSprachOdin, Guardian of Azarath, Seductive Angel, LoopyLouise123, **and **Jordancatgirl7. **Always appreciated, guys, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

- RobinRocks xXx


	3. Batgirl

Batgirl

Barbara Gordon. Fifteen years old. Slender, petite build; lustrous, flame-red hair, with a wild little kick to the body of it; glittering jade eyes. Smart, pretty, athletic.

She's not Tom Brady, but she sure can run; she's not Bruce Lee, but she can break a brick or two.

She's Commissioner Gordon's daughter; and soon, she'll be _Batgirl_.

But the inspiration, and the notion, hasn't struck her yet, so for the moment, she's plain old fifteen year old Babs Gordon.

"Now, you know everything, Miss Gordon?" Alfred asks, taking up his umbrella as he stands at the door.

She nods and smiles.

"Yeah, I got everything. We'll be fine. I'll look after Dick."

Alfred nods.

"Very well – I trust that you will not run into any problems. Again, I am sorry for the short notice. Master Bruce has been called away on urgent business, and I have a few errands I must run on his behalf. I may not be back until late tonight, and I do not feel comfortable leaving Master Dick here all by himself."

"Don't sweat it," Barbara grins. "Any time."

"Indeed." Alfred raises an eyebrow at the former expression and leaves, going out against the evening rain with his black umbrella acting as an ineffective shield.

"So…" Barbara closes the door and turns to Dick Grayson, who is sitting at the foot of the staircase with his chin resting in his hands. "…Just you and me, huh?"

He merely gives a silent, sullen nod. It's not that he doesn't _like_ her, but…

He's thirteen. She's fifteen. Only two years older than him.

And she's his _babysitter_.

* * *

"_Is this how __they__ do it? Masked vigilantes. Once stitch at a time until the costume makes you into your future?"_ – Barbara Gordon, _Batgirl: Year One _**(Chuck Dixon)**

Stitch by stitch by stitch.

My hands and eyes ache; a few of my fingers bleed from the needle. But I smile as it begins to take shape, because – stitch by stitch – I am creating my own legacy.

I know I can do this; and I'm as entitled as anyone _to_ do this. After all, why should Batman and Robin have all the fun? It's not just that, though. I read the papers, and I've read about some of the terrible crimes going on right here in Gotham City. Batman and Robin are good at what they do, but they're only two people, and they can't do it all. I know _I_ can make a difference.

I hold it up, half-finished, to the light; and I smile broader.

As, stitch by stitch, _Batgirl_ is born.

* * *

"Do you think he hates me?"

Robin lowered his binoculars, turning towards Batgirl with an expression of puzzlement on his face.

"Does _who_ hate you?" He asked, brushing his hair out of his masked eyes. It was getting too long, and the chill-bladed wind wasn't helping.

"You should gel it," she suggested, sidelining.

"Uh huh." His eyes narrowed. "_Babs_."

Batgirl twisted her yellow-gloved fingers together awkwardly.

"…Batman," she said finally, her voice quiet and abashed.

"Oh, of course he doesn't _hate_ you!" Robin replied irritably. "I mean, you get to be _Batgirl_. _I_ didn't get to be _Batboy_."

She giggled a little, swinging her feet in their yellow go-go boots. They were sitting on the roof of the cathedral, scouting for Two-Face's men, while Batman himself was busy tracking down the villainous, deranged Harvey Dent.

"Would you have _wanted_ to be Batboy?" She asked lightly, tossing her fiery hair back.

"No, but you're missing the point." Robin raised his binoculars again. "The point is that he far from _hates_ you, Babs."

"That doesn't make sense," Batgirl chided. "Look, I just said it, because… you know, now that I know the reason he does all this… I never imagined that this whole "Batman" thing was so important to him, that it was because of his parents… And I took his image, and… I don't know, it feels like I sort of demeaned it. You know what I mean?

Robin nodded.

"Yeah, but… Barbara, trust me; if he'd been that displeased by your "demeaning" of his image, you'd be breathing through a hole in your neck. For him to not only tolerate your being Batgirl, but to _let_ you be Batgirl alongside us… no." Robin shook his head with a small smile. "He doesn't hate you, Babs. Not at all."

She grinned.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Besides…" Robin finally put down the binoculars, leaning across towards her. "…_I_ like having you on the team. Bruce is a great guy, but not very talkative."

Barbara smirked knowingly at him.

"Is that the _only_ reason, Boy Wonder?"

"W-well," he stammered, "I mean, you're obviously good… you know, at fighting and stuff, so that really helps us out a lot, a-and…"

"Oh, come _on_." Batgirl leaned in close to him, fluttering her thick eyelashes mockingly. "_Jackie Chan_ is good at 'fighting and stuff'. There must be something else that makes it cool with Daddy Bats for me to be around…"

Robin pulled a face.

"Ugh, _Babs_! He's _way_ older than you!"

"I know, I know," Batgirl chuckled, waving it off. "I was just kidding. But let's not forget, Dick… that _I'm_ older than _you_."

"Yeah." He looked away briefly; she was still leaning in and over him, grinning away. Their lips were so close together that one little nudge upwards would be all he needed…

"And obviously more mature," she went on with a little laugh, suddenly backing up from him.

"What _that's_ supposed to mean?" He barbed; his cheeks beginning to tint pink because Batgirl leaning right over him like that had left his crotch feeling uncomfortably tight, and…

"_Down, boy_," she gasped, helpless with giggles as he blinked and looked down, then muttered something profane and huffily drew his cape around himself.

"Babs," he snapped.

"Yeah?"

"I _hate_ you."

* * *

Years later, he would come to know her as his first love.

Barbara Gordon; Batgirl; Oracle. Her dreams were stolen from her in a fire-branded instant and shattered on the ground; shards of rainbow, glimmering but unfixable.

Yes, before Starfire, there was Barbara. And _after_ Starfire, there was Barbara.

Their first kiss was fluke; impulsion. Their 'relationship' was steady, tentative, sweet. They never got very far, certainly not really very much beyond kissing, but it was the type of relationship where that was okay.

He was too young; and she was too unsure.

They never made it a public announcement; and never told Batman. He knew, though, because he was Batman, and because Batman knew everything.

It wasn't something he seemed very happy about. There could have been a thousand reasons why, but they never asked, and he never told them. He seemed to silently blame Barbara more, maybe because she was the newcomer, or because she was female, or because she was older than Dick.

Maybe Bruce was jealous that Dick seemed to prefer Barbara's company more than his, when _he_ was the one who had taken him in and trained him in the first place; maybe their closer ages made _him_ feel left out. Maybe he was afraid that Barbara would steal Dick away, and he'd be left on his own again.

Maybe, in the end, it was _because_ of Barbara that Dick eventually left Gotham.

Then there was Starfire; and Barbara was maybe something he had once dreamt about. Maybe a dream with an occasional wet sheets consequence – but a dream all the same.

But things change; and truer words were never said. Starfire was a princess, but that didn't mean she grew up to have a fairytale ending, married to her prince.

And sometimes now, from beyond the glass, Nightwing would sit in the dark morning hours, on Barbara's outer windowsill, and watch her sleep; the silhouette of her wheelchair dark and sharp against the pale walls of her room, and her flame red hair a wild and tousled halo around her head.

Maybe she was all the rainbow he had left.

* * *

Yeah, it kind of skips around a little, I guess, at least time zone-wise. Heh. I'm almost done with this, and it'll have nine chapters when I'm done.

It's mostly linear to the animated DCU, but… I'm not sure where they stand on Oracle. _Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker_ showed Barbara as Commissioner Gordon II or something…

Thanks to: **Guardian of Azarath, AlsoSprachOdin, Stargirl7, YourPerfectDisaster, LoopyLouise123, dlsky, **and **Jordancatgirl7**. All reviews are appreciated, since this isn't the most innovative of fan fictions…

We're beginning to in a more _Teen Titans_ direction from now on, so…

Yayz!

RR xXx


	4. Alfred

Alfred

"_And while he most certainly became a man, I don't think he ever became an adult." –_ Alfred, _Robin: Year One _(1995 Annual): **(Chuck Dixon)**

I feared that this would happen.

From the moment he brought that child into this house, I was afraid of this. Those six years ago, I remember standing in that dank, dripping cave Master Bruce prefers to work from, polishing another solid silver ornament that will never get any other attention other than that of my duster, and warning him; because I still believe that, in all truth, Master Bruce had no clue as to what he was going to do with the boy.

Things, as they say, have a way of working themselves out. Master Bruce signed countless papers and made him his ward; and he gave him a costume and a mask, and inducted him into his own insane world.

Proud as I may be of both of them – and, yes, Miss Gordon too, of late – I do not know if I can ever fully forgive my master for dragging a boy, one whom might have had a normal life, into his own personal war. At this time, Master Dick is an experienced soldier of this ongoing war – the beliefs and methods and motives of the "super-hero" are deeply rooted within him by now. This makes me quietly despair, because I fear that he is becoming, with each passing day, more and more like Master Bruce.

And while my master is, in many ways, an admirable man, I should hate to see Master Dick too descend into the festering Hell Master Bruce has created for himself to wallow in. Often I wonder if it is indeed not _Bruce Wayne_ who is the true mask, and that the terrifying _Batman_ is the true person that little orphaned boy grew up into. For I can see, as clearly as I have always been able to, that he is _obsessed_ with his crusade.

He will never admit that I was right all those years ago – that he took the boy on a strange, selfish whim. He took him because he saw himself in him, and he could not bear to have anyone else take him. That, initially, I am certain was his only reason.

Any times I have confronted him on the matter, he has spun stories about the boy's acrobatic training and prowess, or his sharp mind, or his quick reflexes. Yes, Master Bruce has spent six years continuously honing the boy, constantly perfecting him, like an artist with a canvas; and yes, it has always been clear that Master Dick is a natural for this sort of thing. His training in acrobatics was a helpful head-start, but all in all, it took Master Bruce and I only six months to get him in uniform and out on the streets. Personally, I had anticipated at least a year before he would be ready, since he had no prior knowledge of martial arts or criminology; and I admit to being dubious when Master Bruce took him out after only six months.

Master Bruce was right, of course; and another thing he will never admit, though I believe it to be true, is that he took a silent, secret delight in his new partner. Maybe it was a pride – that _he_ had trained and created this brand new mini hero, or that he was the only superhero thus far to have a partner. Certainly I know that he and Clark Kent had "words" during those first few weeks, since Kent didn't approve of what he referred to as Master Bruce's "insanity and recklessness" concerning training an eight year old boy and taking him on dangerous missions with him.

My master, in those happier days, would sit in the drawing room in his father's chair after the night's patrol, and after Master Dick had gone to bed; and he would pour himself and I a small glass of wine each, and then he would laugh and say that Mr Kent was only jealous that he hadn't thought of it first. He was even more amused, it must be said, when the Green Arrow announced that he invested in a sidekick of his own, Speedy.

Master Bruce smiled a lot more back then.

For years, it had been only Batman on his own. Then, for four entire years, Batman and Robin. But these past two years, there has been Batgirl too, and while I know Master Bruce to be fond and admiring of Miss Gordon and her input to his cause, I do not believe I am incorrect in thinking also that he perhaps… _resents_ her presence.

Master Dick is a young boy, and has, for obvious reasons, become rather attached to Miss Gordon. And, as bizarre as it may seem, I rather think that Master Bruce is a little, well… _jealous_. I suppose this is understandable – after all these years, Master Bruce finds himself being… "frozen out", as they say on the television, in favour of Miss Gordon. And it is easy for I, or indeed _any_ man, to stand back and shake my head and tut at his immaturity, but I know as _well_ as any man that Master Bruce… does not think as other men do. His later childhood was lost to a double homicide in a dark alley; and to the obsession that has clouded over him from that moment on. My boy, my dark-eyed angel – he is a man, there is no denying that.

But sometimes, I do wonder… if he can really be counted as an adult; because it is something that I often doubt.

But this whole business, I fear, is not the problem itself. It is only the beginning. For Master Bruce and Master Dick have been arguing of late. More and more, over trivial things. Standing back, I can see why they fight.

Master Bruce is used to the boy being an obedient, awed eight year old, nine, ten, eleven… At those ages, Master Dick did not ever disagree with him; because he didn't dare, but also because he never found fault with Master Bruce's methods. Master Bruce has yet to understand the concept of the "teenager", and has yet to understand the fact that his boy is not that obedient eight year old anymore. It is that, I believe; and jealousy of Miss Gordon.

On Master Dick's part, it is that he is, quite simply, growing up. He has formed opinions of his own, and doesn't agree with all of Master Bruce's, and is at the age where he feels he needs to speak up when he doesn't agree. Master Bruce can't stand it when his Boy Wonder answers him back; and Master Dick can't stand it when he is told not to speak to his mentor like that.

They are very different people too, however. As Master Dick has gotten older, I have seen it. They have different priorities and different preferred methods. I suppose that, even if Miss Gordon had never entered the scene, these arguments would happen anyway. Master Dick has become a very different person, and I think it is safe to say that Master Bruce hasn't really changed very much at all.

And the hair gel – he has admitted to me that he hates it. At Miss Gordon's suggestion, Master Dick as taken to wearing his hair gelled and spiked. Master Bruce doesn't like it, and told him so. The uniform has subtly changed too, with long trousers, more robust shoes. Master Bruce is undoubtedly irked that Master Dick made changes to the uniform that _he_ designed; and he told him _this_ too.

Ever the tactful one, that man.

Is this the end? I am afraid not – and I grow ever more worried, because, last night, they fought again. They fought again, and so badly that Master Dick eventually walked out of the Batcave. I didn't hear their words, since I was showing Miss Gordon to the door; she seemed distressed, for we could both hear them, if not distinctly. Master Bruce rarely shouts; but last night the pair of them were like fighting toms down there in their little clubhouse.

After seeing Miss Gordon to her car, I returned to the manor and went down into the Batcave myself, to find Master Bruce on his own, in his chair with his head in his hands. I learned there that Master Dick had stormed up to his room in full uniform and slammed the door.

After shouting that he hated Master Bruce and he was leaving.

The former I do not believe; he was angry when he said it, and I do not think him to be ungrateful for everything Master Bruce has done for him.

The latter is, to our concern, all too real. He is leaving Gotham tomorrow, for a city called Jump. It is not too far away, but it is not something either of us are happy with.

As for the 'Dynamic Duo' themselves, they are not on speaking terms. It breaks my heart that they will part like this, after all these years, but alas, my efforts to mend the angry silence between them have been in vain. I have become their go-between, and it is a role I am not keen to play.

And while I worry for Master Dick, going out there alone to face a brave new world, I am also concerned for Master Bruce. I do not know how he will cope with this, angry as he is. He will still have Batgirl – but I fear that Batgirl was the initial subject of their argument last night…

It is not only that. I stand now, and watch Master Bruce with his back to me, standing at the drawing room window with a slender flute of ruby wine in his hand; it is half past four in the morning, and the first light of dawn is beginning to stain the bottom of the darkness on the horizon, and I do not even know why I am still awake. I have been wandering aimlessly, restless and not tired, dusting things that do not need dusting, because I cannot bear to sleep.

And now I stand in the drawing room doorway and watch him at the window, the way I did all those years ago, when perhaps the first concept of Batman was born in his mind; and I realise then what I think I must have somehow known all along.

That Master Bruce, to a strange and twisted degree, _loves_ Dick Grayson.

I cannot account for _how_; I do not fully understand my master. In fact, well as I know him, I do not believe I understand him very much at all. It may be simply attachment; may be fatherly; may be brotherly; may even be sexually. He is a man, but not an adult; and I do not think he even really knows the degree of this attachment himself.

The point is – and I cannot bring myself to say it to him, even though he is only across the room; because I am not sure if he _knows_ – is that he has attached himself to him; understandable, I suppose, that Master Bruce would cling to someone with this much in common with him, but worrying nonetheless.

The point _is_ that he _loves_ him.

I feared that this would happen.

* * *

Doesn't imply homosexual undertones so much as it implies that Bruce Wayne is, quite simply, just plain weird.

Like we didn't know _that_ already…

Thankyou to: **AutumnDynasty, AlsoSprachOdin, LoopyLouise123, Stargirl7 **and **Guardian of Azarath.**

Next chapter, it's those guys the show is named after… :D


	5. Teen Titans

Teen Titans

"_And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free…" _– Elphaba; _Defying Gravity; __**Wicked**_

"Hey! This isn't your town! Aren't you supposed to be with—?"

"Just moved here," Robin interrupted icily. "And from now on, I work alone."

Alone. Solo. Batman-less. It felt _so_ good…

Regardless, he hurried the job upon seeing that blazing green light go soaring overhead, like an emerald comet; and left the unfortunate burglar trussed up tight and hanging upside down from a lamp post.

Which was _so_ a Batman thing to do.

—

Later still, as the savage, outworldly girl they would come to know very soon as Starfire, princess of the planet Tamaran, threw assorted heavy projectiles in their direction, the Boy Wonder found a masked, enthusiastic, much-younger Beast Boy in his face, saluting fiercely, with a ridiculous grin plastered on his mug.

He sighed inwardly as Beast Boy called him "sir" again; and was also full of inward scorn towards the ex-Doom Patrol member. The wise-cracking demeanor, the stupid-looking mask, and, overall, the notion that Beast Boy didn't seem to take this whole "fighting crooks and evil-doers" thing as seriously as Robin, as Batman's protégé, did, really grated on the Boy Wonder's nerves.

And since, despite his storming out, skulking around in the shadows with Batman was Robin's norm, Beast Boy really was more than he could stand.

_Still_, he reasoned, with a relieved little smile, _at least I'll be rid of him once we sort this crazed girl out. It's not like Batman – it's not like I'm going to be stuck with him forever…_

* * *

"_We're all in this together; and it shows when we stand hand-in-hand – make our dreams come true…" – We're All in This Together; __**High School Musical**_

I guess it must be fate; because, really, I didn't come out here to this city to join a team. I made it clear to myself, and I made it clear to these guys, the night we all first met.

And here we all are anyway.

The morning we stood on that deserted island out on the bay, watching the sunrise and becoming properly acquainted with Starfire after helping her to escape her captors, was several months ago now. It's still sharp in my mind, because it was the best I had felt in ages – away from Bruce's shadow and out in the sun to make my own way.

And this _is_ my own way.

Cyborg has contacts. He wasn't kidding when he suggested having a house built out here. He called up some people, called in a few favors. He was vague about it when we asked, but nonetheless, here we are.

Walking for the first time through the silent halls of our brand new headquarters. None of us are saying anything because… well, I guess because we're all so awed. It's all so slick and shiny and with a quality that kind of makes you want to touch everything.

Not like the Batcave, let's say.

We never really discussed becoming a team. It just sort of happened. Cyborg and I designed the communicators, he made them, and it all went on from there. We started hooking up together every time one of us found trouble, via the comm. units, and when, in the end, Cyborg told us he was looking into a "clubhouse", no-one questioned _why_ he would want to do that.

The name of the team wasn't something we really debated either. Cyborg and I talked it over, threw out some ideas, and came up with the "Teen Titans". Raven, Starfire and Beast Boy all liked it and so it stuck.

Between them they decided to give the leadership positions to Cyborg and I, since we're the ones who primarily pulled the team together. I figured maybe Cyborg would want to take over the team in combat, since he's the oldest, but he gave it to me. They'd talked it over, he said, and decided it was best for me to lead.

Nice gesture; and I guess this is my chance to really prove myself. I'm not taking orders anymore, not from anyone, and I know we're going to make a great official team in Jump City's service.

Needless to say, they jumped at our protection offer when we visited the Town Hall the other week. I guess this was one of the major benefits of having me to front the team – permanently having "Batman and…" at the front of your superhero name doesn't do your ego many favors, but it has certain public benefits. They let us right in to see the mayor once they recognized me. I did all the talking, and there was no real debate. It's a simple agreement – we protect the city, they pay our maintenance funds.

Well, we can't _all_ be Bruce Wayne…

Together, we all step into the Operations Center for the first time; and this weird, contagious grin spreads across all of our faces. Even Raven smiles.

Huge window overlooking the bay. Wall-to-wall TV, complete with cable. The new Gamestation system with multi-tap controllers. Bang up-to-date computer mainframe system. Red semi-circular couch.

It's like we've died and gone to teenage superhero heaven.

Beast Boy lets out a pent-up whoop that echoes around the brand new room; Starfire floats a few feet off the floor and laughs happily.

"Guys," Cyborg says with a broad grin, "welcome to Titans Tower."

* * *

"I do not understand the nature of this food," Starfire declared, holding up a slice of pizza, speared through with a steak knife. "I find it… most strange." 

"This isn't the first time you've had it," Cyborg pointed out through a mouthful of cheese and mushrooms and deep pan base. "We've been to the pizza place before, the five of us."

"You know, the place you wrecked when you first came to Earth," Raven added flatly, daintily biting the point off her own slice.

"This is the first time we've ordered it, though." Beast Boy leaned back on the couch happily. "Here, at _our_ Titans Tower."

"Pizza is pizza," Cyborg said. "This isn't the first time she's had it."

"Oh, but I have always found it strange," Starfire put in earnestly. "It is most delicious, do not misunderstand me, friends, but I never mentioned how strange I found it before now."

"Because "glorba worms" are _so_ totally normal," Raven muttered.

"What do you find strange about it, Star?" Robin asked finally, after debating whether or not to get involved.

"Well…"

Starfire brandished the knife in the air; the hot slice of pizza, which had been flagging on its perch due to the melted cheese, finally slid off. It was snatched up by Cyborg before it hit the table's surface, but Starfire didn't seem to notice, her attention now fixed on Robin – she hadn't even noticed that he had backed off quite a fair bit due to the fact that she was actually brandishing the knife in his face.

"On this planet, the eating etiquette is quite different from that of Tamaran. You insist on using these metal eating utensils, even for things which seem quite _impossible_ to consume with the aid of them."

"Star, forks weren't _invented_ to eat soup with," Cyborg said pleasantly.

Starfire cocked her head, puzzled; and he waved his hand, motioning to her to forget it.

"Okay, but… uh, it's just basic table manners," Robin explained. "I know it must be hard for you, since it's different to your planet, but—"

"No, you see," Starfire interrupted hurriedly, holding up a fork (at which Robin shrank back a little more, since it had gone dangerously close to his eye), "this dish perplexes me, for as you can see…"

She pronged a fresh slice and held it up, where it drooped pathetically, dripping cheese.

"…It is quite _possible_ to consume it using these strange eating tools, and yet, despite all your Earthly rules of eating etiquette, you eat it with your hands."

She sounded really quite distressed; even as the boys blinked at her, nonplussed, and Raven raised a violet eyebrow.

"You know, Starfire," Robin said finally, "you can eat it any way you want to."

"You can use a pitchfork, if you want," Beast Boy snorted.

Again, Starfire displayed signs of not understanding; and there was a strange, confused silence between the five of them for a moment or two.

And then, suddenly, Cyborg and Beast Boy burst out into peals of glorious, helpless laughter. Starfire obviously didn't get the joke – not that there even _was_ a joke, really – but giggled anyway, pulled in by them.

"I love this town, I love this team," Beast Boy gasped out. "God, I love this _tower_!"

—

Raven, who found the word "love" to be an optimistic piece of lexis – and, being what she was, therefore didn't use it much – looked up, grimly amused.

They'd all found their niche here; all outcasts, or younger superheroes, in the cases of Robin and Beast Boy, looking to get away from what had shaped them, so that they could all have a chance to shape themselves.

Raven Roth was a natural observer, perhaps because there were a lot of things she was forbidden to do herself; and had already evaluated her new friends. They all seemed like good people to her, and she liked them; Beast Boy was irritating, but she wouldn't have said she _disliked_ him, as such.

Robin interested her the most, however; and it was not because of his reasonably high-profile status. He had, she noted, become the centerpiece of the team, possibly _for_ that reason; Beast Boy and Cyborg had known of him before they had met him, and so there was a little awe, even from Cyborg, about them in his presence. The same obviously didn't apply to Starfire, being an alien, but nonetheless she had taken a definite shine to him. Even at this early stage, Raven suspected it was a sexual interest as well as her desire to be his friend.

She felt a little sorry for Starfire, because she knew, from her empathic ability to read people, that she was going to have an uphill battle where Robin was concerned.

She'd read him as a person who was, in principle, pure of heart; a natural leader, with a strong sense of justice and a courageous and kind-hearted nature. Good superhero material, even at only fifteen. But she also sensed in him the danger to obsess, a headstrong and impulsive temperament, and immovable pride; and perhaps even the flaw by which he could be seduced by darkness. Here was a boy who would, by his heroic nature, sacrifice to benefit others – but his pride would never allow him to ask for help, even when it could easily be given.

_Dangerous combination_, Raven thought warily as she looked at him across the coffee table.

He had a vague little smile on his face, which was slightly wistful, and aimed in Starfire's direction. Raven could foresee problems here, since, while it was obvious to _her_ that the Boy Wonder had taken an equal liking to the alien princess, his pride would most likely never let him admit it.

Ironic, really, that Beast Boy had mentioned love; since maybe they had _all_ found new things to love these days.

But Raven was an observer; and so she sat back beneath her hood and watched the world – and the Teen Titans – the way she always did.

* * *

Heh. My take on the events after _Go! _Thankyou as always to: **Guardian of Azarath, Stargirl7, Nonasuki-chan, LoopyLouise123 **and **ChalakChalak**.

Next: **_Slade._**

:D


	6. Slade

Whoa... I haven't updated this in like forever...

Heh.

Slade

"_A madman was threatening the city, and I had to stop him. So I became Red X; a ruthless thief who could get closer to the madman than Robin ever could… It was the closest I've ever come to crossing the line."_ – Robin; _X_

* * *

Between us – Batman and I, I mean to say – Bruce was always the _monster_. That was his role, the one that he chose to take all those years ago – this big black bogeyman, designed to scare criminals. It works on most; interestingly, there is a high ratio of one-time crooks who _never_ re-offend after being caught by Batman. 

Of course, there's always the wackos it didn't work on quite so well. The Joker. Two-Face. Poison Ivy. I could go on forever; but I won't, since I have my _own_ Rogue's Gallery to deal with now. Some of the big Gotham criminologists have theories; theories that Batman himself (and later, myself and Babs, when we were added to the equation) does, in effect, "breed" these more colorful criminals.

A theory with basis, I guess. Half of the time, why does the Joker gas a kindergarten, or why does the Riddler leave riddles marked with hand-drawn bats on them at his crime-scenes? Because they _want_ Batman's attention. Commissioner Gordon always said that Batman was the solution; Detective Bullock, and these criminologists, said that he was part of the problem.

Bruce, Barbara and I.

Batgirl and I were part of the army, but our job wasn't to _scare_ people; we were, I suppose, his back-up. We watched out for him and each other. But we were Batgirl and Robin.

We weren't the monster; so we weren't the target.

As it happens, I've managed to walk away from one monster and straight into another one. The difference is that the new one is called Slade, and he's not out there to scare criminals.

He's _one_ of them.

For the first time, _I'm_ getting the _Batman_ treatment. Slade wants my attention; and he _has_ it. Maybe I, or others like me, such as Batman, have _bred_ Slade; and if that's so, then it's my job to take him down. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize I'm probably playing right into his hands, but at the moment, I'm so overcome by this sudden _brilliant_ idea I have, that notion doesn't take up much space in my forefront consciousness.

All that matters is that I have a dark, determined brainwave, ten square meters of black spandex, and a sewing machine.

Not that I've ever _used_ one before, at least not to make an entire outfit, but…

We all have start somewhere. Stitch by stitch. I know Bruce made his own costume, and Babs made hers.

Alfred made mine. It's about time I got the needle and thread out myself, I think.

I am not a monster. At least, _most_ of me isn't.

Maybe this costume will be home to the part of me that _is_. If that's the case, then I already have a name for it:

Red X.

* * *

"_Who knows? I might even become like a father to you."_

"_I already have a father…" – _Slade and Robin; _Apprentice Pt II_

* * *

The uniform had always been everything. 

A lot _about_ "Robin" had been governed by the uniform – and this was no exception.

First, there had been the metallic leotards, with _Haley's Circus_ scrawled across them in glimmering showcard font, that had marked him as a member of that large, bright family.

Then there had been the first Robin uniform – pixie boots, shorts, the whole bag. Fairly embarrassing, looking back on it, but nonetheless a vital part of his induction into the Batman's world.

Then, by a combination of ideas from Babs, Alfred and Robin himself, there had been the updated uniform, with long pants, boots, two-toned cape of polymerized titanium. The marking of the latter time with Batman – and, more importantly, the forming of the Teen Titans.

Bruce, father-figure though he may have been, could surely never have expected him to wear shorts for the entirety of his crime-fighting career. Surely there was some kind of _law_ against that…

Regardless, that wasn't the uniform he was pulling on now. Under the dull, apple-shine glare of a single spotlight, the pants weren't green or spandex. They were black and leather. The shirt was black and bronze, not trademark crimson. Metal accents and limb-guards and neck-plate.

Strange – that really didn't look much like an "R" to him. More like an "S", truth be told. It rested over his heart, the way the "R" had done; but it wasn't an "R".

"Red X" was locked up safe in a vault now – but Robin knew he never should have made it, never should have worn it.

Changing his uniform, even if only for a few hours, and for a noble purpose, had been both a mistake and an invitation.

He looked down at his palms – the creases in the leather. If Bruce could see him now—

"A perfect fit," Slade drawled softly from somewhere beyond the light. "And it suits you."

"I bet you think you're pretty smart," Robin replied coldly, not looking at him. "Blackmailing the _almighty Batman's_ partner into working for you…"

Slade laughed quietly.

"And again, your concern is with those around you. How many times do I have to tell you… this isn't about your worthless friends, _or_ Batman. It's about _you_, Robin."

"I would be nothing if not for him. I wouldn't _be_ Robin."

"Ah, you will _always_ be nothing, Robin, unless you allow me to open up the true potential within you. The Bat taught you martial arts. That's a step-up, but, overall, worthless."

"You can't be _serious_!" Robin snapped, incredulous. "You wouldn't even know who I _was_ if not for what he taught me. Do you realize I'd just be some—"

"What you might have been is not important. What you _can_ be is all that matters."

"What, a criminal like you?" Robin raised his chin. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

"It's rather too late for that," Slade murmured, his words velvet-lined. His stone-grey eye settled on the "S" floating over Robin's heart. "You've already sold your freedom to _me_…"

Watching his defiant new apprentice open his mouth to fire back again, Slade suddenly and effortlessly lashed out with his arm, backhanding the boy and sending him to the floor with a split lip.

"And you are disillusioned yet again," he went on drolly, watching in amusement as Robin sat up, dabbing at his bleeding lip with his leather-encased fingertips, stunned. "You think your credentials as Batman's sidekick mean something to me. You think that _Batman_ means something to me. You are wrong, and I think you will find, _Boy Wonder_, that he means more to _you_ than he does to anyone else, because _his_ is the pedestal on which you were raised up. You glorify him, while I see him for what he truly is – an idiot in a bat costume. Do you think _he_ is the monster? Do you think _he_ is the one close to the line?"

Slade laughed softly again as Robin turned a gaze ablaze with hatred on him.

"Because he isn't," he finished, going in for the kill. "_You are_."

* * *

"_I am the thing that keeps you up at night. The evil that haunts every dark corner of your mind. I will never rest… and neither will you." _– Slade; _Haunted _

* * *

Raven, meditating in the middle of the Operations Center, slitted a violet eye open to investigate the small sound that was disturbing her. 

Starfire, in purple pajamas, slouched right down on the couch cushions; gazing blankly out of the window, and giving a bowl of _Count Chocula_ a vague beating with her spoon. She hadn't taken even a single bite, but the small scraping noise of the metal spoon against the ceramic bowl was distracting Raven.

Still, Starfire seemed pretty distracted herself. It was unlike her to be up this early – it was only 7:30am. Cyborg and Beast Boy were still asleep.

This morning, so was Robin. He was usually prowling around by this time, making a racket with the radio and the toaster and the TV.

But perhaps this morning was a special circumstance. After all, he had almost lost his life last night…

Perhaps Raven knew this better than anyone else – after all, she had been inside his mind. She had seen what he had seen.

Scary stuff. Maybe not the end of the world, stuff like that; but being stalked by Slade…

Raven gave a little shiver.

_No thanks._

Starfire, needless to say, was distressed by Robin's condition; truthfully, Raven didn't think there was anything to worry about now. The danger was over, and Robin was young and strong. He would recover, and quickly.

At least _physically_.

Although, on that note, they had left him to his own devices last night, after he had said he was going to go and get in some sleep. They had all felt that he most likely needed his privacy after his ordeal – but someone should check on him.

Shutting out Starfire – who was playing some kind of drum solo with that spoon now – Raven closed her eyes, centered herself, and sent her Soul Self soaring upwards out of her body and through the ceiling. It drifted up through a few more levels, until, finally, she hit Robin's aura and came to a floating halt.

Within her solid body's mind, she could see that she was in his room; it was still rather dark, and the curtains were drawn.

_Makes a change_.

She'd thought that perhaps he wasn't still asleep – or maybe hadn't even gone to sleep at all. But no, he was out for the count in long pajamas, lying on his stomach.

Even in the dark, she could see some of the worst bruises – large, and such a deep blue they were almost black. He looked peaceful at the moment, but he was going to be in a lot of pain when he woke up.

And the worst of it was that, despite his unstable mind-frame last night, and his belief that he truly _had_ been fighting Slade… he had technically done this damage to himself.

His obsession – his inability to let go – had nearly destroyed him.

And maybe, since Slade hadn't really been there, it yet would.

Such was Slade – and such was Robin. She'd seen it in him, all those months and months ago, when they all first became a team.

The leader – and the hero – who could save others; but not himself.

* * *

"_It's the end of the world. Did you think it would be easy?"_ – Slade; _The End Pt II_

* * *

I've never seen anything like it. 

Not even in my worst nightmares – and I've had some pretty bad ones – have I ever seen _anything_ like this.

Raven has done what she's been saying she would. Not because she _wanted_ to, but because she _had_ to.

She's ended the world.

She protected us. Well, _I'm_ still alive, anyway. I woke up alone. I followed a raven here; to the top of the TV surveillance tower.

And _now_ what?

I just kneel here on the glass and the metal, because what else can I do?

There's nothing left. Even _Raven_ has gone.

To be linear, Raven was born of rape to an Earth woman, the daughter and heir of Trigon, an interdimensional demon. She was born to fulfil a prophecy; _this_ prophecy. The coming of Trigon, and the end of the world.

Bad credentials; but not her fault.

No, I know whose fault this really is. Trigon could never have achieved his goal without help; and we know _Raven_ certainly didn't give it to him.

Time and time again, the equation comes out the same.

The Teen Titans may be facing their darkest hour yet.

And this time, Slade _really_ has a lot to answer for.


	7. Terra

Agh, sorry, I am soooooo slow at updating this fic...

Which is odd, since I finished writing it all well over a month ago... O.o

Terra

"_I knew it. I knew it! We never should have trusted her."_ – Raven; _Betrayal_

She'd drifted into their lives, hair and eyes ablaze with gold; there was an alluring and mesmerizing grace about her, which drew them all in. And it was a strange grace, since she was hardly a curvaceous supermodel with the perfect slink and strut to her stride. On the contrary, she was too skinny, rather awkward and certainly clumsy.

But there was an innocence about her cornflower-blue eyes; and a tentativeness about her smile. The blonde, blonde hair didn't exactly deplete her any points either – and they were struck by her.

A reluctant hero, and an even more reluctant Titan. She hadn't _particularly_ wanted to stay with them that first night, hadn't _particularly_ wanted to run their assault course, and hadn't _particularly_ wanted to hang around after returning home from the fiasco (and her secret meeting with Slade) in the diamond mines.

They'd offered her the place on the team; she had accepted until she had gotten it into her head that Beast Boy had told Robin about her "secret"; she'd run off, only to return to them, suddenly more confident, with new control over her powers and new clothes; like idiots, they'd trusted her, let her back onto the team with no questions asked, and then…

…_this_.

"I guess this is the thanks we get," Raven said flatly, approaching Robin from behind; he was standing in silence at the window, looking out over the sunrise-kissed bay. The broom under the authority of her powers continued to sweep up dust and debris from the floor of the Operations Center. "Our home torn to pieces."

She watched the black material of his torn cape move under the influence of his back muscles as he shrugged.

"We're lucky _we_ weren't torn to pieces," he replied, his voice passionless.

Raven was surprised by his behavior, to say the least. She and the others had expected him to be boiling over with rage, since _Slade_ had, in all truth, been the one behind this. But on the contrary, he seemed rather lackadaisical about it all; trailing listlessly around helping to clear the mess.

He hadn't really said a thing at all. Perhaps the calm before the storm, but even so, it was strange to see their fiery leader behaving this way.

"Will you… be alright?" Raven asked him quietly.

"I expect so." Robin looked at the empath over his shoulder. "I'd be more concerned about Beast Boy, if I were you."

Raven took down her hood.

"I am, but… Beast Boy is doing what is right. He is expressing the pain he feels, and while you may scorn his tears, it is _good_ for him… to cry over her. I think he may have loved her, after all."

"That has nothing to do with _me_."

"Yes. That is what worries me." She paused as he flashed another glance at her. "Well, I thought… that you would be angry, but you… haven't really said a thing…"

There was a long bout of silence between them.

"I _am_ angry," he said finally, the gold light of dawn throwing a brilliant glow across his face and body. "The girl we trusted betrayed us to our nemesis; we've spent half the night fighting off robot minions, and the other half clearing up the mess they left. I'm exhausted, hungry, bruised in places that I didn't know I _had_, and god, Raven… you wouldn't believe how _stupid_ I feel. Yes, I'm angry. I'm fucking _furious_."

But he still said it in a tired, expressionless voice.

"Stupid?" Raven repeated.

Robin massaged his aching temples.

"I'm team leader. Ultimately, it was _my_ decision whether or not to allow her onto the team. And I guess that means, ultimately, it's _my fault_ that she—"

"Don't you start taking the blame for what that little traitor did to us!" Raven snapped. "It was a decision we all came together; and regardless, we are not _stupid_ for what we did. How were we supposed to know she would throw everything we've ever given her back in our faces?"

"I can't help feeling responsible for… well, all of it," Robin sighed.

"Well, _start_ helping it," Raven replied. "And get that brush over there. Azar knows this place isn't going to clean itself…"

_More's the pity._

* * *

"_Just so you know, this isn't __**avoidance**__… It's __**acceptance**__." _– Dick;_ Nightwing: Year One _**(Scott Beatty and Chuck Dixon)**

There have been ups and downs in the chronicles of the Teen Titans thus far, but this is the first time he has ever felt like a failure.

Maybe this is a just punishment for him getting perhaps a little too high and mighty; yes, of course he is proud to be the leader of the Teen Titans. They've been a successful team right from day one, when they had fought side by side against the Gordanians without even knowing each others' names.

And it makes it all the sweeter, since he always feels as though Batman is just waiting for him to trip and fall.

Perhaps _this_ is that trip-and-fall for which Bruce has been so patiently waiting.

The girl they had trusted, out hunting them down; hating them for a reason none of them even _know_.

The communication system is down; but Robin puts out of his mind the reasons _why_ it might be. He cannot bear to think that he is the only one left, that Terra has…

Starfire saved his life, undoubtedly, by pushing him aside. The boulder hit _her_, sending her over the edge of the cliff, but he is confident that she will survive such an assault. He's seen what she can do, after all.

Regardless, he can't find her down there, and he can't hook up with her comm., and he can't get hold of anyone else.

Which leaves him ultimately, on his own; to rally and stand against the girl who was once their friend.

Would Bruce laugh at this? Would he be _pleased_ that Robin has failed? Would he suggest, in mock pity and understanding, that Robin return to Gotham City to take his place beneath _him_ again?

No. He clenches his fists angrily. He cannot go back to that. He _refuses_.

Titans or no Titans, he has to take Terra down. It's a matter of principle, and a matter of pride – for the good of Jump City, and for the good of himself.

So secure is he, as a Teen Titan, that he will now no more bow to _Batman_ than he will to _Slade_.

Something which _Terra_ is about to find out.

* * *

"_It's my fault. I'm the one who got us into trouble." _–Robin; _Calling All Titans_

You'd think I would have learned from the last time.

Terra? She was just a warm-up. She was one girl, working for one villain. Tough at the time, but we pulled through it and went on to fight many more days.

We've gone from strength to strength since then. Expanded our horizons, furthered our reach. First the Titans East team over in Steel City, then the slow-but-sure building up of the ranks of Honorary Titans right across the globe.

This isn't three non-powered guys in costumes and an English guy. Or, well… two guys and girl. This isn't even a team, really.

This is an _army_.

Unfortunately, our enemy this time is as well-versed in commanding an army. In fact, and I hate to admit it, he's better. He's better than _me_. Sure, he's a brain in a jar, and to be honest, I really could just walk over there and kick him off the ledge we're standing on.

The gorilla would save him though, I would wager. Mallah; yeah. Mallah would save him, put him down, then come over here and rearrange my face. They've got these cuffs on me, like the ones those aliens put on Starfire when she first came to Earth. Not like I'm going to be opening a barrage of starbolts on them, but whatever. The point is that I'm at their mercy. If the gorilla takes it into his head to come over here and start tossing me around, there's not really much I can do to stop him. The cuffs are so heavy I'd probably, and physics on the fly here, fall over if I tried to gain any momentum to kick him with.

I'm in a position to jump off the ledge, but I'll just wind up hitting the floor, since I can't get to my grapple. The floor is stone, and if I was lucky enough _not_ to end up completely splattered, I'd break both my legs, no question.

Why am I here? "Madam Rouge" is the short answer. "Madam Rouge tricked me into giving her my communicator, gave it to the Brain, enabling the Brotherhood of Evil to follow our every move all across the globe and therefore initiate a devastating chain reaction of attacks to pick us all off, then came back, slapped me around and brought me here so the Brain could taunt me" is the long answer.

I cut off the communication system right before she took me. I don't know who's alive and who's dead. They don't seem very interested in _killing_ us, as such – more into capturing us and freezing us to keep us as trophies – but that doesn't mean a thing. Accidents happen.

Although who is to say they would be accidents? We might be just teenagers, but if being Batman's sidekick taught me anything, it's that this isn't child's play. The villain isn't going to go easy on you just because you don't shave yet. I know that better than anyone, and I learned it pretty quickly.

Slade perhaps likes to credit himself with teaching me these things – the idea that there is the good and the bad and the grey; that and the fact that he's not going to lay off just because I'm a _Teen_ Titan.

But honestly, he didn't teach me a thing.

Before Terra showed up – the girl in the grey area – I knew about the ugly side to what we do. Sounds glamorous, all this protecting the innocent, swinging from rooftop to rooftop at three in the morning. It has its perks, but the newspapers don't tell it right. It's not easy. I know, because I've swerved into the grey area myself. Once, definitely, as Red X; but maybe more than that.

People like Terra don't understand those things until they are thrust upon them.

I shake my head. My thought train is running off by itself; although anything is better than listening to the Brain drone on in the background. He's talking to me, I think. I've heard my name a few times, spoken with a mechanical hiss and crackle. Almost as bad as when Slade says it.

But I can't listen to him. I'm too angry to listen to him, and too tired. It's not something I'm going to say out loud, but I'm tired of being stabbed in the back. Really, seriously _sick_ of it. First Terra, then Rouge. Okay, so Rouge was never _on_ our side, but _I_ thought she was _Hot-Spot_, so I handed it over without a second thought.

You can't go around handing out communicators to just anyone, I've learned. Bit late for that lesson, I guess; yeah, way too late, now that I've given everyone one. God, thinking back on it, I even gave _Gizmo_ one once, after the Tournament of Heroes.

I wonder morbidly who else, if we manage to pull through this, will turn on us and use the communicators against us. Sounds awful to be suspecting people are supposed to be our friends – but then, _Terra_ was supposed to be our friend, and look what _she_ did to us…

Kole, maybe? Pantha? Jericho – I admit there's something weird about that kid.

And let's not forget our own. Cyborg had us going for a while there, infiltrating the HIVE Headquarters under the "Stone" alias. Then of course there was Raven, inadvertently ending the world; and subsequently _us_ too. And me. Blackmail though it may have been, _I've_ betrayed the Teen Titans too.

I'd say we were safer by ourselves, as the original five, but evidently, that's not true at all.

I guess the only conclusion I can come to, as I stand up here as the Brain's little trophy and watch them turn Speedy into a popsicle, is that, while the communicators may be the real cause of our downfall, this all started with Terra.

She was a mistake; a mistake we all vowed collectively, and I vowed privately, would never happen again.

Because, as I once said to Raven, ultimately it was _my_ decision to let her in. And no matter Raven's reassurance, I'll always feel partially responsible for what she did _because_ of it. She needed our trust in order to destroy us – and she could only get that by being on the team.

But even _after_ Terra, I was _still_ stupid enough to go handing communicators around to everyone. That's why I'm here. That's why we're _all_ here.

"…The elimination of an entire generation of heroes," I hear the Brain say to my back; his tone is expressionless, of course, but I still get the feeling that he's pleased with himself for having me on my knees in front of him. The _king_, as he called me. "And we owe it all to you, Robin."

_Yes, Brain; I guess you do._ And I can't turn to him; only grit my teeth in cold, silent fury. _Although maybe you should be thanking __**Terra**__ too…_


	8. Starfire

OMG, I am _so_ sorry...! I haven't updated anything for like a decade... Well, not quite that long, but it seems that way...

Oh, _Layer Cake_ - you weren't suposed to have dragged on this long...

Starfire

"_If you wish not to be destroyed, you will leave me alone!"_ – Starfire; _Go!_

She kissed him.

She came crashing down to Earth like a sparking emerald comet, she wrecked half of Downtown, she threw a bus at them all; and then she kissed him.

Her lips were hot and dry and tasted like dust. Space-dust, maybe.

Or maybe just regular Earth-dust, resting on her lips after being kicked up by the destruction she had wrought on the entire block.

One moment he was picking the locks on her cuffs, hoping secretly that she wasn't going to paste him across the jaw the moment her hands were free; and next her hand was clamped around the back of his neck and her lips were clamped against his.

Which possibly shocked him _more_ than a superhuman smack across the face would have done.

Her lips had an electrifying heat to them, and that wasn't just wishful thinking on his part. He would come to understand the tingling sensation of her mouth and the blazing white that momentarily wiped throughout his mind later (_in Tokyo_); but for now, he just stood there.

He didn't kiss back, he didn't struggle, he didn't do _anything_. He just stood there like a lemon while she engaged him in the kind of lip-lock Babs had always edged around – then shoved him onto his back, spoke in English and flew away.

He watched her go, still flat on his ass, stunned; as the other three gathered around. The green kid broke the silence, was ignored, and the hooded girl sighed audibly.

"Well," declared the tall black teen loudly, looking around at the shot-up street, "I sure hope _we_ don't get sued for this…"

* * *

"_And this mask makes you look very mysterious…" _– Blackfire; _Sisters _

Maybe that was the start of the attraction. Starfire, in all her new-to-Earth glory – her black clothing, metallic armor, face-framing tiara. Before they came to know the sweet, naïve girl beneath it, they knew the spitfire fighting-machine who leveled half of Cyborg's _'hood_.

Maybe it was that first kiss that had done it.

Or maybe it was the red hair. She was unlike Babs in a lot of ways; but in others, so _very_ like her. Maybe it was comfort, what he found in her.

Whatever it was, he found himself inexplicably drawn to her; and she very promptly attached herself to him, though he pretended not to notice. He was shyer around her than he had been with Barbara – maybe because Babs hadn't seemed so far out of his league.

Babs wasn't from another solar system, to start with.

But he'd found it easier with Babs. Or maybe because Babs was _older_ she had been able to read him better. Starfire was more naïve, more easily led and upset; the slightest nudge away on his part, mostly out of awkwardness or embarrassment, and he'd see the hurt in her eyes. Babs had dealt with it better, teased him, accused him of playing hard to get.

Or maybe even being in the shadow of the Bat had made it easier. Surrounded by three of their peers made it awkward – Cyborg and BB would joke relentlessly about it, and Raven would roll her eyes and forever be more interested in her book.

And on that note, he felt it only acceptable to act on what he felt for Starfire when it was needed.

Strangely enough, _Blackfire_ always seemed to fall into that equation.

Twice he – and they, collectively as a team – had almost lost Starfire because of her sister's scheming. She might have been thrown into jail on the Centauri Moon System; or unhappily married to some floating Jell-O mould with an unpronounceable name.

Blackfire. She looked a little like Starfire had when she had first fallen to Earth. Same clothes, anyway. And to think they had all been taken in by her, trusted her; fawned over her to the extent that Starfire had even felt unwanted, and replaced by her big sister.

He felt guilty enough when he remembered that, when "Blazin' B" first came like a whirlwind into their house under the pretense of a friendly visit, he had felt a little spark of attraction towards her. Maybe it was the confidence she had that her little sister lacked; or maybe it was the offer to demonstrate some alien martial arts; or maybe it was even her _clothes_.

And Blackfire herself… At first _she_ had acted as though she was attracted to _him_. Maybe there was truth in it – but more likely, he supposed, she had merely sensed that Starfire liked him, and had done it out of spite.

Needless to say, his own attraction had quickly waned.

Blackfire, pure and simple, was a bitch.

But at least her schemes always forced him to act. If they could thank Blackfire for anything, it was that. _Because_ of her, Starfire must surely know by now that the attraction wasn't just one-sided.

Beating up twenty Tamaranean guards and interrupting her sham wedding had to count for _something_, surely…

Or maybe it was their surroundings. On a planet alien to him, maybe he felt more vulnerable, and was therefore more likely to look to her for comfort. After all, she was _forever_ an alien but on Tamaran. But twice (and one of them had been only the day before) the zone of a planet that was unfamiliar to him had drawn him closer. Tamaran, of course, when he had been forced to interrupt her wedding or die trying; but the harsh, red-tinted darkness of a small, far-off satellite planet had threaded their hearts together too.

They'd only gotten back from there yesterday, Starfire radiating an elatedness which was clearly a product of what she had tricked him into saying. Not that he hadn't _meant_ all those things he had said, but… he still felt cheated when he remembered how she had cornered him.

And before that, he had had to experience something most unpleasant – namely the Feminine Cold Shoulder.

Dimly he recalled Bruce, many years ago now, coming home from a date relativity early for him, and minus Selina Kyle, which was unusual in itself, slamming the front door and stalking upstairs, undoing his tie and muttering about "_Women_"…

Well, he'd been ten years old, which was three years before Barbara, and frankly it had gone over his head. Those three years later he had begun to understand – but now, after being rebuked so icily by Starfire on that planet, he felt like an expert on the subject.

All because of Cyborg and his stupid "girlfriend" comment…

She'd guilted him into saying those things. And they hadn't been the most Shakespearean of words ("_Starfire… I think… uh… it's… awesome… the way… you shoot starbolts_…") – but she seemed happy enough.

Which… he couldn't understand. He'd cringed inwardly as he'd said those things, because although he meant them, it wasn't exactly romantic poetry…

Then again, maybe he just didn't understand _her_.

Babs had been tough enough, but Starfire… was an alien princess. Emphasis on "alien".

Emphasis on "princess"; prin_cess _implying _female_.

Maybe he just couldn't understand why she liked him. Why, despite the fact that he often ignored her "advances", she never wavered, never waned. Why all the things he had ever done hadn't earned him a mouthful of starbolts by now.

Because surely it was hard enough for her to understand him as it was, due to their different genders. And then there was the fact that she'd been brought up to act on her emotions, and he'd been brought up to suppress them, because that was what Bruce Wayne did. They were very different people – like day and night, and although it was common to say that opposites attract, maybe all it meant was that, in the long run, it was just never going to work.

After all, Blackfire might have been onto something when she had called him "mysterious" – but how long was Starfire going to go on chasing that mystery? How could she stay close to someone who was never going to let her in?

How could she stay close to someone she could never _understand_?

* * *

"…_I really need time to sort out my emotions."_

"_I'll give you all the time in the world." _– Dick and Koriand'r; _The New Teen Titans #26 _**(Marv Wolfman)**

Well, she hadn't exactly ended up as a model for an Engrish-sloganed brand of gum, but Starfire was getting her fair share of attention here in Tokyo – namely because the Japanese population loved anything that little bit exotic-looking.

Which was exactly what Starfire was.

"Weather's still bad."

It wasn't a question.

Starfire looked up from the authentic Japanese manga she was engrossed in – her ability to absorb entire languages through lip contact had enabled her, in short, to appreciate Tokyo far more than the rest of the Teen Titans (and had enabled the Boy Wonder to decipher exactly _why_ she had kissed him that first time…). While Raven was stuck with her Super Twinkle Donkey Gum, Starfire could pick up and read anything she wanted. She had bought some manga only that afternoon, unmarred by translation (being in its true language); it seemed to be about, judging by the colorful front cover, a group of teenaged girls in scanty sparkly sailor outfits, all different colors. The girl in the foreground was blonde, in blue.

Blonde. Not _red_.

"Yes, it would appear so…" Starfire sat upright from where was lying on the wide bed in her hotel room to look out of the window.

The hot, dry weather that had graced their first few days in Japan had vanished completely – perhaps the rain during their final showdown with Daizo had been a warning of the weather to come, but after clearing up briefly for the award ceremony, the heavens had opened and high winds had picked up.

The conditions, as Cyborg had distractedly cited several times by this point, were too dangerous to fly home in. The others agreed, but since they could not really go outside to sightsee, Tokyo had lost its appeal. Even Beast Boy wanted to go home now. Starfire had made a brief brave venture out earlier that day to go shopping – she had been alone in that, for even Raven refused to join her, far more comfortable in her swanky hotel room reading some books she had mercifully brought with her.

In gratitude for the exposure and defeat of Uehara Daizo, Tokyo's government had generously paid for the Titans' temporary residence at one of Tokyo's most expensive and prestigious tourist hotels. They had a room each; and with an arcade, an entire mini food court, a tiny cinema suite, a games room, a gym, a spa, a library and a lounge – among other things – in the hotel itself, there was no real shortage of things to do.

Cyborg and Beast Boy were playing pool in the games room after spending an hour or five in the arcade, Raven was stretched on a couch in the lounge, and the fearless leader himself had just come back up from the gym.

He had, however, planted himself in Starfire's room for the time being.

Perhaps slightly shy of him, she continued to read her manga, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he paced up and down wordlessly, occasionally glancing out of the window. It had taken him ten minutes to speak, and even then, only those three words.

"Storm."

Another word. Starfire counted four. He leaned on the windowsill, pressing his forehead to the steamed glass.

It was dark, relatively late, and Tokyo was lit up the way it was on postcards – through the rain-spattered window it was blurred and melted.

A little like the line between their friendship.

The kiss had changed everything. The kiss in the rain; while they were unprepared, wet, covered in ink. Third time lucky, yes – the first two times they had been prepared for it (steeling themselves against it too), and it had not happened.

Yes, third time lucky indeed.

It didn't matter whether they had been prepared for it or not. The point remained that despite now being "kinda-official-but-kinda-not", they could barely look one another in the eye.

It wasn't shame. It wasn't embarrassment. It was just…

Starfire timidly said his name; and he jumped and turned to her quickly.

"What?" His voice was a little sharp, but she did not seem to mind.

Instead she laid her manga aside and patted the bed.

"You must come sit here with me. We should do… the "talking"…"

"I can hear you from here." He turned his gaze back to the window.

"But I cannot converse with you properly if you stand over there," Starfire replied icily. "And should we not converse correctly, if we are now… the boyfriend and girlfriend…?"

"We're…" He massaged his forehead for a moment or two. "Okay, okay…"

He came to the bed and flopped down on it, sprawling across the width of it. Thoughts of Starfire and that sweet first kiss had wearied him these past few days. _Were_ they "the boyfriend and girlfriend"?

The day of the ceremony in the Teen Titans' honor, she had been stuck to his side like a magnet; clutching his hand most of the day simply because he was obliging to hold it.

But the few days following it… she had not pursued him any further. They stole the odd glance at one another and then looked away again, blushing; over dinner with whole team, over the chessboard in the lounge room.

But now that the magic had worn off, it hadn't made things between them any easier – indeed, it had only made them more difficult. Because there was no longer anywhere to hide – no call to forge obliviousness. He couldn't subtly move his hand when she tried to put hers on top of it, as though he hadn't noticed the advance; she couldn't pretend she was utterly ignorant of the sometimes… _suggestive_ positions they managed to inadvertedly get themselves into while sparring in the gym. No, he could no longer ignore the crestfallen look on her face when her hand met only the table's surface, just as she could no longer feign innocence and ask him what was wrong while he blushed crimson at the fact that he was sprawled on top of her.

She leaned over him, her pretty face concerned.

"You are ill?"

"No." His tone was irritable.

"Then why do you lie on the bed?"

"I just came up from the gym. I'm tired." Which was only a partial lie.

"Oh." She twisted her slender fingers together. "Very well. I, ah…"

"You wanna talk."

"Yes. I… I am concerned."

"About… _us_."

"Yes." She looked at him earnestly. "You have given thought to this also?"

"A little." He propped himself up on his elbows. "The only conclusion I can come to is that… this is gonna be hard."

"Do you think?" Her jade eyes glistened a little, becoming wet; he sighed deeply and inwardly, hoping she wasn't going to cry. That was something he couldn't deal with right now.

"I know it will. You're talking about a transition from…" He sat up and drew a line on the bedsheets to illustrate his point. "…From friendship to…"

"The boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Yes." He looked up at her. "I guess so."

"You seem… unhappy…"

"About this?" He saw the danger this time and detoured around it. "No, no, this is… I mean, I'm not _unhappy_, just… you know, because it _is_ different. It does change things. You have to realize that."

She blinked once, very slowly.

"I do." She leaned in a little closer. "But perhaps I _wish_ for things to change between us. I like you. I like you as _more_ than a friend, R—"

"Yes, but," he interrupted, "you know, if it… things don't always work out, and it's not easy for things to go back to the way they were. That's why it's such a big step, Star."

Her eyes narrowed a little.

"You believe that things will not do the working out between us?"

"No!" Again, his tone was a little sharper than he had intended, and she recoiled a little. Exasperated, he flopped back onto the bed.

Dear god, she was _so_ different to Barbara – and not just because she had longer legs…

"Star, it isn't that, it's just…" He looked up at her. "You can just never plan what's going to happen in the future. It's not us so much as… well, everything _else_… Things change."

"But surely… the uncertainly only brings people closer together?" She wiped her eyes on the heel of her hand; the beginnings of tears…

"Well…" He sat up again and offered her a small smile. "…You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

She gazed at him hopelessly; more tears forming in the stead of the ones she had wiped away.

"Then… what are we to do?" She asked quietly.

"We… need _time_. But we…" He hesitated, then took both the plunge and her hand. "…We can _try_."

She nodded with a tearful smile, and then put both her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

She was really nothing like Barbara at all.

"_And what about __**her**__?… The tall one with the green eyes, great tan and legs up to my chin?" _– Batgirl; _Nightwing: Year One _**(Scott Beatty and Chuck Dixon)**

And _he_ was nothing like Bruce.

Because it meant a lot more; and because he hadn't felt anything.

"I'm… sorry," he said after a long while, looking up at the ceiling.

Starfire, straightening the straps of her pink night gown, looked at him over her shoulder.

"Why should you be sorry?"

"Because that was… really bad." He even managed a small smile. "It was _terrible_."

"You did… not enjoy it?"

"Star, _I'm_ the one who _made_ it terrible…" He sat up, the bedsheets bunching at his lap. "Painful as that is to admit. Guess it's not as… _easy_ as it looks…"

"But you did not enjoy it?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't _hate_ it, I just… I dunno. It wasn't that great, you know? It wasn't you, it was just… in general."

She looked almost relieved.

"Thank X'hal," she breathed. "I thought that it was just me…"

"Maybe we weren't doing it right." He frowned. "At least, I'm pretty sure _I_ wasn't…"

"Do you think, perhaps… we were not ready…?"

He gave a little shrug.

"I don't know. I felt like… well, we both _wanted_ to…" He looked up at her. "And we're been together for quite a long time now. Tokyo always seems like it was only yesterday, but…"

He trailed off, watching her nod.

"Your first time?" He asked softly.

"Yes."

"Hm." He exhaled deeply. "Me too. Did I… _hurt_ you?"

"A little, at first, but… that is… _normal_, I think."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

She smiled at him.

"Do not be. Do not be sorry for any of it. It may not have been as… _magical_ as the books and movies suggest, but… it was _real_."

He leaned his head back on the pillow of her bed and sighed.

"The way Bruce goes through them, you'd think it was as easy as changing the TV channel…"

She paused.

"…Women?"

"Yeah." He smirked a little. "Playboy façade to keep up and all. They don't really mean anything to him, but they all come away satisfied."

"Well…" She reached across to his hand and played with his fingers thoughtfully. "…You are not _him_."

"No." He looked her in the eyes; and saw himself reflected in the glimmering jade. "I guess I'm not."


	9. Nightwing

Nightwing

We know this can't go on. Not anymore.

Too much has changed. It's been a good run; but I've lost count of the years now. We're not _Teen_ Titans anymore, and we're growing apart.

No, that's wrong. We've _grown_ apart.

We all want different things from life now. We're not teenagers living on the high of being the city's protectors and getting free cable into the bargain anymore. Those were good days, but I guess it all has to come to an end.

Not that this has to be an _end_. It's also a beginning – for all of us, I guess.

I'm not sure where we're all going to go. It's nice that we're not parting on bitter terms. We're all still friends, and we came to the unanimous agreement to end the Titans.

Of course, it's not necessarily the end of the Titans altogether. There are still the Honorary Titans all over the globe, and as far as I know, Titans East is still together. Maybe Aqualad left, I'm not sure.

But ultimately, we're not united in our goals anymore, and I think that accounts for a lot. We can't _be_ a team anymore if we're not _thinking_ like a team anymore. We've all changed as people; and, well, I suppose it's like Bruce and I.

Nothing lasts forever.

Not even _Robin_.

* * *

"_Nobody loves anybody, my darling. We just survive." – _Batman; _All-Star Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder #5 _**(Frank Miller)**

* * *

"It is over, then?"

"You know that, Starfire." Nightwing looked over his shoulder at her; he was twenty-one, with a wave of ebony hair falling halfway down his back. "We shut down Titans Tower this morning. The Teen Titans are finished."

"Are you sad?"

"Well, yeah, sure. " He breathed in the night air; they were standing on a rooftop, high above Jump City, and Titans Tower, dark and lifeless, was visible across the glimmering water. "…End of an era."

"You will miss them?"

"Of course. But we'll… we'll all stay in touch. You forget, Starfire – this isn't that alternate future you fell into. Remember that time with Warp? This isn't it…"

"I know." She smiled serenely. "Of that I am glad."

They had all changed that last year or so. Raven wore white. Beast Boy was taller; wore silver and purple instead of the original black-and-magenta combo. Cyborg had alloy upgrades and new systems.

Robin had traded in "Robin" to become "Nightwing".

And there was Starfire. She was taller still, with hair almost to the backs of her knees; she wore a V-shaped tiara on her brow beneath her fringe. Her breastplate and gauntlets were much the same; but her boots were shorter, as was her top, both with a more streamlined, angular cut; and the skirt was long, with slits each side, almost to the belt. All that same violet, but overall she looked very different.

And very beautiful.

"And what of _us_?" She asked quietly.

"I can't stay here with you." His voice was pained. "I already said this. You want to be a model. This is the best place for you to do it, Star. But I can't stay here. I've done my job here in Jump City. Please, Starfire." He reached for her hand. "I _need_ you to understand that."

She didn't smile; but she squeezed his fingers.

"I do not," she admitted. "And it pains me that you shall leave me. But I love you, and do not wish to see you unhappy. If you feel that you must leave, then I will never stop you."

He sighed inwardly, guilt surging upwards.

"It _is_ that I must, Starfire, believe me."

"Then I will let you go."

And she did; her slender fingers sliding from his gloved ones.

"No," he said desperately; because it was all he _could_ say. "I can't walk away like this, with you… _hating_ me…"

"I do not hate you." She put her arms around him and embraced him tightly; and he hugged her back. His second, and perhaps greatest, love. "I could never hate you… _Robin_…"

He was silent; and then gave a choking little laugh.

"Guess your _Rekmas_ got us after all, Starfire…"

"No." She kissed his forehead. "This is merely life."

* * *

"_I assumed you wanted to get from under my shadow. Make a name for yourself. You've done that. Created a life, fought your own fights. I didn't have the __**right**__ to call you back."_

"…_The right? I'd __**die**__ for you, Bruce."_ – Bruce and Dick; _Robin #13_ (1994); **(Chuck Dixon)**

* * *

"Do you want my _approval_?"

"No." Nightwing said it to Batman's back, since the man wouldn't turn to him; too busy tapping away on his Bat-computer. "I guess not."

"Then why are you _here_?"

"To… inform you."

"Hn." Batman paused in his typing. "Blüdhaven?"

"Yes, I thought so. Unless you _object_, of course."

"Why would I _object_?"

"Because that's what you _do_."

"Dick, if you're just here to antagonize me, get out."

"You know I'm not here to do that," Nightwing retorted hotly.

"What an oddly apt byproduct, then." Batman finally looked at him over his shoulder. "What do you want?"

"To tell you that I'm going to Blüdhaven."

"You're a grown man now, Dick. It's your decision where you go and what you do. You don't need _my_ permission."

"Somehow, I feel like that's not true." Nightwing folded his arms. "_You're_ the only reason I'm here. _You're_ the only reason I do what I do."

Batman was quiet for a while.

"You know flattery doesn't work on me," he said finally.

But he'd stopped typing.

"Why the hell would I be _flattering_ you?" Nightwing snapped. "I'm just saying, because… because it's _true_. You _know_ it is. You know that, no matter what you say, you would have been _angry_ if I'd just gone off to Blüdhaven without telling you."

"What makes you suppose that?" Batman asked dangerously.

"Because if it wasn't for you, I'd just be another orphanage graduate, out there trying to live the normal life," Nightwing replied wearily. "Don't you _see_, Bruce? Everything; everything that I've been, or am, or will become… it all comes back to _you_. To _Batman_."

"You're _blaming_ me?"

"No. I'm _thanking_ you." Nightwing lost his patience. "But I should have known it was too much to hope that you'd recognize that…"

Nightwing turned on his heel and made off towards his discarded motorcycle; he couldn't stand here and listen to this.

Bruce hadn't changed at all.

He pulled his bike upright, and was about to get on—

"What did you _want_ back then?!" Batman suddenly burst out, looking directly at him. "For me to come running after you to Jump City? I didn't want you to leave, you _know_ I didn't, no matter what I said… And I was going to _stop_ you from leaving, but Alfred… Alfred said it was best to let you go. You were growing up and there was nothing I could do about that. Nothing at all."

Nightwing watched him silently, motionless.

"I know we fought but I didn't mean to drive you away," Batman went on, clutching the armrests of his chair. "But what could I do once the damage was done? Alfred said it was for the best, to let you get out on your own, out from under my shadow. I suppose he was right; and then I heard you'd formed the Teen Titans. What could I do then? I'd lost you. I could never have called you back. I had no power, and no right."

"Of _course_ you had the right!" Nightwing said incredulously, lowering the bike again. "I owe everything I _am_ to you. If it wasn't for you, there would have _been_ no Robin, and no Titans, and…"

"But what would it have _proved_?" Batman said when Nightwing trailed off. "Only that I could control you. Only that Batman _owned_ Robin. I couldn't have done it. You'd have hated me. You'd probably never have forgiven me. No matter what you think of me, Dick, I could never have done that to you."

"I didn't realize that it made you… unhappy," Nightwing said after a long while. "I thought you were glad to see the back of me."

"I know you thought that. Alfred often lamented over the fact that you had walked away thinking you'd done me a favor. It wasn't true, but… you were gone. I was angry, but I accepted it; as did you."

Batman took down his cowl; his face had a few more lines, but otherwise remained unchanged from all those years ago.

"Perhaps it was fitting," he went on, his voice calm and quiet now. "I started this quest alone. You joined my war, as did Barbara; but ultimately it is, and always has been, my mantle. It would never have been fair to tie others down to a fight they didn't start."

"_I'm_ still fighting," Nightwing said fiercely.

"Yes, and I commend you, for all these years. With me, by yourself, with the Titans… But while you continue to fight, you're no longer at my side. That was what I meant."

Nightwing allowed himself a small smile.

"I think I'm a little too old for that now, Bruce."

"Yes; and you fight your own fights now. Our priorities aren't the same, Dick; they haven't been for a long time. That's what drove us apart."

"We're two different people."

"Ah." Bruce Wayne actually smiled a little himself now. "Alfred wisdom."

Nightwing gave a little laugh.

"Well, he always _was_ the brains of this outfit…"

"Yes, well, there's no denying that…"

There was a moment of awkward silence between them.

"I… I really should be going, anyway," Nightwing said eventually, retrieving the bike again. "Blüdhaven calls."

"Indeed." Bruce rose out of his chair as Nightwing got the bike sorted out. "…Thankyou for coming to tell me. It was… nice of you to think of me."

Nightwing blinked in mock surprise.

"The almighty Batman, thanking someone _and_ using the word "nice", all in one go?"

"Ah, your feeble humor remains intact," Bruce fired back peevishly. "How nostalgic."

Nightwing grimaced.

"Touché."

The sudden quick embrace Bruce gave him caught him off-guard even more, however.

"And a man-hug too," was all he could say as the man let him go. "Are you the _real_ Batman?"

"Oh, get out," Bruce groaned.

—

"Again the prodigal son flies the nest, sir?"

Bruce blinked, turning to find Alfred at his side, holding a small silver tray; on which was a cup of fresh black coffee.

"Alfred, I didn't hear you come down."

"Yes, well, you did seem rather preoccupied…"

Bruce took the coffee and went back towards the computer.

"How much of that did you hear?" He asked offishly.

"Enough, sir. All I can say is that I am glad you and Master Dick are no longer at odds."

"I'm surprised he came here…"

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"You are very hard on yourself, Master Bruce. You know he was not going to hate you forever. I very much doubt he even hated you at all, no matter what you say on the contrary."

Bruce sank back into his chair.

"Blüdhaven," was all he said.

"You do not approve?"

Bruce shrugged.

"What can I do? We both know he was never mine to keep. It doesn't matter what _I_ think, not anymore."

"I think he still harbors much respect for you, sir. It seems that way to me, anyhow."

"I suppose." Bruce looked up at his old friend. "What do you think of him? From what you saw?"

"He seems to be a fine young man to me; and as dedicated to your cause as ever." Alfred paused. "There is no weakness in being proud of him, sir."

"I know. And I am." Bruce sipped at his coffee and allowed himself another rare smile. "He's my Boy Wonder, after all."

* * *

"_They say you can't go home again, but here I am."_ – Nightwing; _Nightwing: War Games Act Two (Part 3 of 8)_; **(Devin Grayson)**

* * *

In the end, maybe it didn't matter how many years had passed.

Maybe it didn't matter which city it was.

Maybe it didn't matter whether he was a sidekick or a leader and an independent crime-fighter; Flying Grayson or Boy Wonder or Teen Titan.

Maybe it didn't matter which mask he wore; whether he chose to be Dick Grayson or Robin or Red X or Nightwing.

Maybe it didn't matter whether he was affiliated with Batman; or Batgirl; or the Teen Titans; or Slade; or anyone else.

All that mattered was that he stood here, high above the city – a city; _any_ city – and observed, and, like another avenging angel, pledged to do just as he had always done.

Save the world; save the city; save one person; save himself.

It didn't really matter in the end because he was but a page in Batman's Bible.

_All_ of it was.

Welcome to the Layer Cake.

**END

* * *

**OMG, _finally_... I haven't updated this since July, and I _finished_ it in July, and wow... 

Utter failure.

Well, that's the end of _Layer Cake_. How bloody epic was _that_...


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